


Insomnolence

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Angst, Boys In Love, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt and comfort, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Music Artists, Mutual Pining, Overwork, Smii7y knows what's going on, Stress, YouTubers - Freeform, middle of the night, workaholics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 19:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: Maybe if it had been earlier, maybe if John hadn’t been running on fewer fumes than he’d assumed, he wouldn’t have attempted the conversation with Vanoss, and wouldn't have broken the unspoken rule that ‘you didn’t ask people why they weren’t sleeping’.Maybe if it’d been earlier, Evan might not have replied so honestly.





	Insomnolence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Colourspaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [oh, how cold it is when you’re away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963684) by [Colourspaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/pseuds/Colourspaz). 

Pale blue eyes tracked the moon; a glowing haze of silver against navy sky, distorted through glass and thin, grey curtains. The clouds drifted, causing the light to flicker and dance. Sometimes, when the sky grew clear, the light burned against his night-time vision. Other times, the dark greyish-black smog completely obscured any star or moon, and if John hadn’t known that it was there, just beyond the clouds, he never would’ve guessed. He would have remained oblivious to that silver edge, and the light would have stayed beyond his grasp.

The brunet blinked once, twice, slowly. The bed was warm around him. The comforter shielded his shoulders from the cool air and the pillow pressed against his cheek.

In and out, deep breaths, a slow, steady rhythm.

He resisted the urge to look at his nightstand, an instinct despite the fact that the red, digital numbers hovering there blinked an unknown amount of hours behind and he’d never get the correct time. The result of a power outage and he himself being too lazy to reset the clock.

His fingers twitched.

One minute, maybe two passed. He watched the moon, the clouds.

“Goddamn it,” John grumbled, and rolled over onto his stomach, fingers reaching for the laptop beside him.

The light was bright, glaring, and his stomach twisted because he _knew_ this was just making it harder to sleep, _the computer screen will make it worse_ (The nagging in his head sounded suspiciously like Tyler going off on Vanoss for the umpteenth time about overworking himself).

The sudden relief of _doing_ something, of having work or a hobby or even social media to distract himself with was so overwhelming that he nearly sighed. He’d always been that way; incapable of sleep until he was well and truly tired, and he hated, _hated_ lying awake, unable to fall asleep and doing nothing.

He’d rather at least be productive if he was up anyways.

John had been editing and watching random youtube videos for two hours when a notification sounded out of the blue; startled him enough that his laptop slid off his lap and onto the blankets. The room was quiet around him, and dark, silent enough that he could hear his own breaths in the stillness, and he reached for the electronic clumsily.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than were necessary before he clicked the Discord icon at the bottom of his screen with reservation, not really wanting to talk and expecting Nogla, since the man was in Europe and likely the only person awake at this hour.

It was not Nogla.

John’s eyes widened, and he blinked as though that might change the name he was looking at.

**[Vanoss]**  
_hey_

And then a second later:

_can you do me a favor?  
Tell me to get my shit tofether and go to bed_

A wry smile tugged at the corner of John’s lip, amused at the irony of the situation. This was a new DM chat. Him and Vanoss had never once privately messaged one another, instead talking in group servers or communicating through friends and second-hand information. A quick glance at Wildcat’s server confirmed that they were the only two America-residing people that were awake.

**get your shit tofether and go to bed**

He rested his wrists on the keyboard and leaned back against the pillows, watching as ‘Vanoss is typing…’ popped up at the bottom of his screen. For some reason, the experience felt slightly surreal, floaty. As though John might’ve drifted off and started to dream.

_dont mock my spelling, man  
its late_

**i know it is**  
** go to bed**

_we both know im not going to_

**so why ask**  
** whats keeping you up?**

Maybe if it had been earlier, maybe if John hadn’t been running on fewer fumes than he’d assumed, he wouldn’t have attempted the conversation with Vanoss, and wouldn't have broken the unspoken rule that ‘you didn’t ask people why they weren’t sleeping’.

_Idk_  
_I was hoping maybe hearing someone else say it would be more motivating_  
_I’m working on musc_  
_*music_  
_for the tour_  
_I want to hit my head on a rock_

Maybe if it’d been earlier, Evan might not have replied so honestly.

**what, you need to rant or some shit? call me. im bored**

After thirty seconds of silence, John resigned himself to a ‘no’ and switched back to his editing software. The timeline looked overly complicated and daunting, and he stared blankly. His mind felt exhausted even as his body thrummed with awakeness.

The sudden jingle of an incoming Discord call sent a jolt of shock through his system, adrenaline at the sudden fright.

“Fuck, you scared me,” John blurted, the instant his avatar appeared and confirmed he’d entered the call.

“Sorry. You offered, though.”

Vanoss' voice was rough and low with obvious fatigue. His vowels ever so slightly rolled at the end, and the hint of an accent long forgotten bled through the Canadian’s LA corrupted words. John had never heard him speak that way; quietly and seriously. He was used to Vanoss' silence in pre-game lobbies or laughter and smart ass comments during recording sessions.

Him sounding…_human_ and oh so _painfully relatable_ threw John for a loop, and the brunet suddenly felt uncomfortable, unsure of how to deal with a sleep deprived man whom he’d never had any real, meaningful conversation with.

“Yeah, I...um.” John blanched, hands instinctively moving to twist rings that lay tucked away in their case, not adorning his fingers, and finding only clammy skin. “Yeah.”

Vanoss laughed, dry and completely humorless, and the sound slashed through John’s heart; wrong, wrong, _wrongwrongwrong-_

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, voice growing faint as though he’d leaned away from the mic; tone hollow. “You’re probably busy, right?”

Then it clicked, a flash of realization through John’s entire being and he sat bolt upright, unconsciously dragging his laptop closer as though that would make his voice stronger, more believable.

“I didn’t mean that I changed my mind- I’m still offering for you to rant or talk or whatever. Jesus, I didn’t- mean to sound like that.”

For a moment there was silence, only the hum of electronics and the gentle sound of John’s own breath echoing in his ears.

“Oh,” Vanoss finally conceded, voice unnaturally small. “Oh. Sorry I...assumed I guess, and-”

“You’re fine,” John blurted, sagging back against the pillows as a sudden wave of exhaustion settled on his shoulders. _What time was it?_

More silence stretched, and John eventually let out a huff, halfway between amusement and exasperation.

“Just talk, brother.”

He could hear the soft edges of a smile in Vanoss' tone, when the other responded with an ‘okay’, and began to speak.

Later John would feel guilty for remembering so little of what Vanoss actually said, but in the moment the Canadian’s voice resonated calmly in John’s ears; warm and constant, like gentle ticking. White noise.

At first, Vanoss' voice was tight, and he spoke rapidly; as though he feared John might change his mind still and leave the call. As time passed; slow, seemingly infinite, they both relaxed. John remembered humming gentle agreement with Vanoss' words, remembered how the Canadian vented and later joked, chuckling gently.

Most of all, John remembered smiling, softly, feeling warm in a way he never had before.

He woke up, sluggish and drowsy, blinking blindly up at the ceiling. His laptop was tucked up against his side, top still open and screen dimmed to the lowest setting, and plastic pressed into his ears, a stark reminder of his call last night.

John’s eyes swept across the room, gaze falling on the inaccurate clock on his desk.

**11:38**

He’d actually fallen asleep. Incredulous, the brunet sat up, earbuds tumbling down onto the sheets around him. John followed the items with his gaze, settling on his screen. He reached down to up the brightness.

John’s breath caught when he saw the call icon, both his and Vanoss’ avatars still securely projected as active. The brunet clapped a hand over his mouth, instinctively stifling any noise, and clumsily lifted an earbud to his ear.

Sure enough, the soft sound of Vanoss' rhythmic breath flowed over John, and he realized with an almost-giggle that they’d both passed out in the call.

Hesitantly, John reached down and exited the discord call, wincing at the jingle he knew must’ve sounded loudly on Vanoss' end. Quickly, he dropped the earbud and typed a quick message, feeling a pressing need to make sure Vanoss knew he hadn’t simply abandoned him.

**[Kryoz]**  
**night night :)**  
**or morning actually. morning :)**

With a wide yawn, John stretched and climbed out of bed, leaving the laptop running as he headed into the bathroom.

When he eventually got back to the computer, about forty five minutes later with a bowl of cereal in hand, it was to several new messages;

**[Vanoss]**  
_morning_  
_im going back to sleep_  
_so night_  
_zzzzz_

Kugo didn’t seem to understand why his roommate John kept laughing the entire morning.

It became an unspoken truce that Vanoss would call John on nights he couldn’t sleep. The brunet grew used to the presence of that quiet, brilliant man, with his sharp mind and soft words. He lured John into such a fog of comfort and warmth that he always ended up falling asleep. John honestly still wasn’t sure which one of them would pass out first, only that he either woke up to an empty call and a clumsily typed ‘good morning’; or he would end up leaving one himself if he awoke to the soft sound of the Canadian’s little snores.

He began to check his phone routinely on those mornings for the sleepy, silly messages Vanoss always left him in response.

They played a recording session of pictionary- Vanoss, Smitty, Brian, Nogla and John himself. It was chaos, quite like John had expected it to be; Brian spamming soundboard keys and making Daithi rage, Smitty’s hysterical laughter at John horrible spelling, and Vanoss' repetitive drawing of meaningless animated characters.

Actually, on the topic of that last one, John was quite proud of himself for the sheer number of Vanoss' drawings he’d actually been able to successfully guess. On multiple occasions the brunet had sunk back in his chair smugly as the other boys screamed about Vanoss' horrid drawing skills and absolute disregard for the actual rules of the game.

Perhaps even better than the satisfaction were the surprised, delighted laughs Vanoss would let out each time a ding echoed throughout the game and ‘Kryoz guessed the word’ appeared in chat. John found himself laughing along with the others’ disbelief, warm at Vanoss' obvious happiness. The man deserved to simply banter and smile, John decided, and that became his goal for the rest of the recording.

By the end of the session, he and Vanoss had matched each other three-in-a-row for first place guesses of each other’s words. John closed OBS and left Discord feeling strangely glowy.

**[Vanoss]**  
_kryoz_  
_we should play again, with tyler or marcel_  
_theyd hate our drawing-guessing style_  
_smii7y is too good of a sport, we need people who will rage more_

**oh hell yeah**

Wildcat announced a get-together in early December, a supposed ‘Christmas party’, but everyone knew it was an excuse for a boys’ trip. A part of John was actually surprised to get an invite, hadn't really expected to return to Tyler’s house after the 4th of July party he’d hosted.

Instead he found himself across the country in rural Tennessee, curled up on the sofa between Jiggly and Smitty with a smile unconsciously plastered on his face, bathing in the warmth of his friends that surrounded him.

It was late, and everyone was in varying forms of intoxicated or sleep deprived, and the air was riddled with giggles and hysterics none of them would admit to the next morning, but would enjoy none the less. John himself was drifting on the dense cloud of alcohol, floating halfway between present and lost in his mind.

At some point, everyone else wandered off towards the kitchen to play Uno and John felt too heavy to follow. Considerately, Smitty flicked off the lights when he left, bathing the abandoned living room in shadows. Despite his tipsy state and being curled up at the edge of the couch, John lay awake, blinking out the windows at the tree line and moon.

Laughter bubbled up from house, and an uncomfortable edge twisted around John’s heart; a sudden, creeping feeling of anxiety he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Soft pattering; stocking covered feet on hardwood floor reached John’s ears and he stirred slightly, rolling over to watch the figure that had hesitated in the doorway, backlit by the hall’s light.

“Kryoz. Sorry, did I wake you?”

Vanoss’ whisper echoed in the stillness, soft and apologetic. John shook his head numbly and sunk back against the pillows, too drained to hold his head up.

Footsteps drew closer, and John tucked his feet up to allow Vanoss space to sit. He stared into the darkness, felt the cushions shift as the Canadian sat down.

“Can’t sleep?” Vanoss asked quietly, and John felt those dark eyes on him, felt confused because wasn’t that usually what _he_ asked?

“Mmmm...:” he mumbled in response, and a soft huff of laughter sounded from beside him.

“They’re playing an Uno tournament in there,” Vanoss said quietly, and John found it so familiar, yet so different, having that voice beside him rather then simply through headphones. His focus settled on the rolling vowels and soft, choppy consonants.

John shifted over again so he was on his back, looked at Evan’s form lined with golden light and shaded with darkness.

“I think right now Marcel, Scotty, Smitty and Tyler are going at it. Marksman won the other game, and they're just waiting for this one to end. I think the final is 7-0 rules.”

“You can call me John,” the brunet suddenly interjected, and Vanoss’ head rose quickly to stare at him; expression open and lips slightly parted with surprise.

“It’s fine,” John continued, waved one hand along with his slightly slurred rambling, “Everyone calls me John, not Kryoz anymore, cause Toby goes by Toby now. And we’re friends, so you can call me John. It’s stupid to go with titles.”

His tyrant only ended when he looked up and saw Vanoss’ smile, soft and fond and _oh so amused._

“Okay John,” Vanoss conceded, and the words felt foreign from the other’s lips, yet fitting. “You should call me Evan, though. It would be weird if you didn’t.”

“Evan,” John slurred, starting at the sudden chuckling laugh that erupted from the Canadian, quickly becoming muffled by a sleeve covered hand.

“Oh my god you’re so drunk,” Evan giggled, and John blinked at him numbly, confused as to how this was an issue. Then there was a warm presence at his side, heat against his thigh and he dimly realized that Evan was now directly next to him on the couch.

Evan pulled out his phone and a roll of ear buds, nudging John over until they could both see the screen. Nimble fingers pressed one earbud into John’s ear, and he was so dizzy that he just settled against the cushions and watched quietly as Evan pulled up Youtube and started playing a video.

Faintly, John could hear the echoes of shouting and cheers from elsewhere in the house, but snuggled up in darkness and warmth, the room backlit form the hallway light and the faint glow of Evan’s phone, the heat radiating off of the man beside him and thoroughly under the haze of alcohol; John felt content.

His final flicker of memory was in the fifth video, of Evan’s slowing breath right by his ear and the realization that his head was on Evan’s shoulder, cushioned against the hood of his sweatshirt.

John drifted off to sleep.

He blinked awake to bright sunlight and an empty living room. John laid on the couch, a cushion beneath his head and an open sweatshirt draped over his curled form. His phone rested right beside his hand.

Sleepily, he picked up the device, staring unfocused at the nearly black screen as his brain took too long to process that the brightness was very low.

He swiped his thumb to raise the light, then recoiled slightly at the unfamiliar lockscreen that greeted him. He turned the electronic in his hand once, twice.

Not his phone.

The memories came back in flickers; alcohol, laughter, a dark room and youtube videos. A white, unfamiliar earbud tumbled from his ear, and that’s when it clicked that John was holding Evan’s phone.

Sleepily, the brunet sat up, letting the sweatshirt fall from his shoulders, the device clutched tight in his hand. His eyes ached and his throat was dry, but other then that he wasn’t really feeling the effects of a night of drinking.

The house was strangely quiet.

John stumbled into Tyler’s kitchen, mildly disoriented and in desperate need of a glass of water. In his quest to find a cup, he almost missed the dark figure sitting at the table, watching him over a plate of eggs and syrup.

“Top shelf, left most cabinet.”

“Thanks,” John grumbled, grudgingly following Smitty’s advice and sticking a cup beneath the sink’s tap. “That’s disgusting, by the way.”

Smitty looked down at his plate, then laughed and rolled another forkful of eggs in the syrup before taking a bite.

“It’s painfully Canadian, too.” John pointed out as he dropped into the chair across from his best friend. Smitty just grinned cheekily and purposefully took another large bite of food. John cringed, drinking his water and trying not to imagine how awful that must taste.

“What, because of the maple syrup?” Smitty questioned, and John rolled his eyes, the glass to his lips preventing a response.

“Who’s phone is that? I know you didn’t get a new one,” Smitty interjected, and John lowered the glass and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before responding.

“Evan’s, I think.”

Smitty’s eyebrows raised, and John shuddered as the dark brunet took another bite of his concoction and chewed thoughtfully.

“It’s ‘Evan’ now, is it?”

“Yes,” John snapped back, grumpy and tired and too hungry to deal with his friend's mind games. “It is, that’s his name, dumbass.” He got to his feet and headed over towards the toaster, opening a nearby cabinet in search of bread.

“Just a question,” Smitty reassured from behind John, though the light, casual edge to his voice was a clear warning the man thought far more deeply about the situation then he implied. Sometimes John wanted to strangle the younger.

“You just gonna give it back?” Smitty questioned again, once John had popped his bread into the toaster and had begun to raid the fridge.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” John responded, confused and distracted with the apple he was spinning between his fingertips.

“You do realize it’s practically code that if someone is stupid enough to leave their phone accessible around friends that you prank them, like take a bunch of stupid pictures, right?”

“That has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” John retorted, even if what Smitty said really wasn’t all that unusual. He was just in a disagreeable mood. “Besides, he didn’t leave it out, he purposely left the video running. God- fuck, where the hell is a knife in this place?”

He slammed the drawer shut and glared as Smitty gave him an incredulous look that far too quickly morphed into realization, and then barely suppressed amusement.

“So that’s where he vanished to. I thought he was mad at losing.”

John ignored his friend in favor of slathering jam on his toast.

Besides, if there was an extra picture on Evan’s phone with a clearly visible middle finger, it had nothing to do with Smitty’s influence. Nor did it have anything to do with the laugh that echoed towards John’s retreating back, after he’d tossed the device onto Evan’s bed.

On Christmas, Kugo all but literally dragged John out of bed. Downstairs in their communal home, hot chocolate shoved into his hand and surrounded by his energetic roommates, John couldn’t help but smile; reminded of Christmases past with his sister.

He’d gotten both of his roommates presents and couldn’t help by smile fondly when they opened them, their cheerful reactions heartwarming and sweet. The gifts John had received in turn were equally gratifying; a small, ornate glass bottle of earth-tone dyed sand in waves and patterns and an intentionally rainbow colored set of seven nail polishes (He’d rolled his eyes at the second one, though smiled).

From his online friends, Smitty sent a package of clothing he’d specifically seen and chosen for John, and the brunet was strongly touched when he realized that Smitty had nailed it, not only in fashion sense, but simply the clothing size too. The other’s had sent him stuff as well: giftcards, free merch, hilarious christmas cards.

What John hadn’t been expecting was the final box, addressed neatly to him in perfect print alongside a note written in the nightmare of all handwriting.

_Hey, have a gift (or a couple)  
\- Evan Fong_

John had heard tales of Evan’s presents. In fact, he’d watched a couple of videos Brian, Wildcat and Daithi had made on them, remembered being stunned at the time that Evan could have possibly remembered and recreated so many small, carefully chosen jokes and references, for each and every person. Now he didn’t have a doubt in his mind Evan was capable.

Still, he approached the package with care; apprehensive, nervous almost. Kugo shot him a strange look at his hesitance, to which John promptly stole his pocket knife to slit the box open, hiding the fluttering in his stomach behind jerky, fierce movements.

The first thing John saw was rainbow cloth, and he promptly rolled his eyes and threw his arms up, to the instantaneous hysterics of his roommates once they laid eyes on his gift.

John was fairly certain they liked the gay flag far more than he did, if their insistence on making him wear it like a cape was anything to go by (It was that or a toga, he chose the more dignified option). Still he obliged, laughing and smiling and knowing Evan had predicted exactly this happening.

Beneath the flag was a pair of headphones, and John’s eyes widened because they were expensive and high quality; a true, proper present. He set them aside gingerly, telling himself he really had to thank the Canadian for that one.

Finally, or John assumed finally, was a small sketch book that filled up the majority of the bottom of the box. It wasn’t until he curiously flicked through the pages that John began to laugh.

The book was a collection of every Skribblio drawing John had ever made, each carefully marked with the word chosen and the “top guess” that’d appeared in chat, along with who’d guessed correctly and who hadn’t. It was a trip down memory lane. Perhaps the best part were the small messages scribbled into the margins, little comments Evan had made on each drawing and what he thought it looked like; or a sketch of Homer, if there was no funny comment to be made.

While everyone else was pouring over the sketch book, John picked up the tiny bag tucked into the bottom corner of the box that he’d only just noticed. It was small and made of blue velvet, heavy in his palm, and familiar. John knew what it was even before he eased the bag open and shook it out into his palm.

The ring was made of thick, worn silver metal, edged in black. Small, oval-shaped stones were pressed into the band, each a dark, deep purple that led up to a small piece of carved obsidian at the center.

A small piece of paper poked out of the bag.

_Because I missed your birthday_

All the pictures from that day were of him goofing off with friends; though silver and purple glinted securely on his finger.

Throughout the remaining winter evenings, John would stream or play games until the sun had long since set, only stopping once he noticed a discord notification popping up in the lower left hand corner of his screen. Evan’s regular messages became John’s schedule for going to sleep, and he suspected it was the same for Evan, who usually worked for hours without stopping.

It wasn’t until John was curled up in his bed, contentedly listening to the other man speak excitedly about something that he was planning on the Minecraft server that the brunet came to the realization that somehow this time had become a required, constant part of his life.

It wasn’t until then that it hit him how much John actually knew now about Evan’s life, interests, fears, how much _Evan_ knew about _him._

It was then, four months after Vanoss had first daringly texted him, that John realized he was completely, totally fucked.

He wasn’t prepared for that.

Pax West was the convention for anyone in their group who lived in California, and John himself, in Washington. As a result, plans were being thrown around wildly by those close by, and the annual game of begging those who lived in other countries or states to come was set afoot. Needless to say, nearly everyone showed up.

The experience reminded John of their previous boys’ trip; all running around and goofing off, their every move heavily influenced by alcohol and energy drinks.

John was so absorbed in the atmosphere of it all, meeting people, playing games, cracking jokes, that he barely noticed the passing of time at all, seemed to float from place to place on a high of good vibes.

He adored conventions, loved the chaos of it all, the excitement, the exhilaration that _this was his life, this was what he could do for a living._ He was in such good spirits he didn’t even tease when Tyler, Jiggly and Evan joined them; himself, Smitty, Scott and Chrissy at the cheap restaurant booth they’d claimed. John leaned back when Evan clambered over him to get to the back corner of the booth, and only blinked once, surprised, when in an uncharacteristic expression of self assurance, Evan began to use John’s lap as a pillow.

_’He has a migraine’_ Anthony mouthed, when John glanced up for explanation, and upon connecting the dots, he automatically cupped a hand over Evan’s exposed ear to dull the noise. The Canadian made an aborted noise of gratitude before turning his head to hide his eyes against John’s jeans.

They stayed like that, Evan only popping up on occasion to order food or to later take a few bites of food before he was back to hiding in the dark and muffled noise John provided. Evan was obviously miserable, and eventually John simply nudged Tyler beside him out of the way, stood up, and gently guided the Canadian with him and up out of the booth.

It took an uber ride, but John eventually dragged Evan back to his and Smitty’s hotel room, it being the closest silent place he could think of. By the time they got there, Evan had a horrible furrow between his eyes and was wincing routinely, agitated by even ambient sounds.

Once John fumbled the hotel door open, he promptly directed Evan towards his bed and began to dig around his suitcase for Ibuprofen, which he shoved into Evan’s hands.

He was more than a little alarmed when the Canadian waved off his movement towards the bathroom and easily swallowed the pills dry.

Now that his mission was complete; namely getting Evan someplace safe and quiet, and getting him medicine, John wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, an awkwardness settling over the room.

Evan flopped back against the pillows, immediately wincing at the jolt, and glanced over at John with half-lidded, tired eyes.

“Youtube?”

John smiled, lightly, and headed to grab his laptop off the hotel desk and bring it over. Evan scooched over, bundled as far beneath the blankets as he could possibly be, and John had to laugh because he looked like a grumpy, black haired marshmallow.

It was strange, lying next to another person and having it feel completely natural. The heat that radiated from Evan’s side of the bed was comforting, only more so when eventually Evan shifted to watch the screen better and their shoulders became pressed together.

It felt vaguely nostalgic, John decided, the fluffy bedding, the dark room and the simple giggles or chuckles pulled forth from them by good humor and quality videos. Eventually they switched to watching their friends, both of them sickly fond at seeing the familiar content.

After about an hour, weight pressed heavier against John’s side, and he glanced down to see Evan’s dark hair sprawled out across the blankets and John’s shirt. His back rose in steady, slow waves and John reached out unconsciously to pull a few strands of caught hair free from Evan’s lips. The Canadian did not stir, and that’s when John realized he’d fallen asleep.

The brunet paused the video, his other hand resting lightly on Evan’s back, and as he laid there, absorbed by the silence and warmth, John realized with a sudden ache in his chest that he didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want this calm atmosphere to disappear.

He looked down at Evan’s face, soft and free of stress lines in sleep, and all of a sudden, John desperately wanted to kiss him.

Instead, he settled for brushing the edge of his forefinger lightly over Evan’s temple, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Goodnight,” John whispered softly, his voice rattling in the stillness; wistful.

Smitty found them both asleep, Evan tucked up into John’s side and the brunet slumped against the pillows, the open laptop still laying on the bed.

For the first time, John woke to an empty room, both Evan and Smitty gone, and no text whatsoever.

Despite his efforts to the contrary, and knowing it was unhealthy, John drifted for the rest of the convention, caught up in thoughts and guilt and the ‘what could be’ that was beginning to plague his mind. On multiple occasions he found himself anxiously twisting that obsidian ring around his finger, to the point where he eventually huffed, ripped it off and shoved the piece of jewelry into his pocket.

The brunet was wound tighter than a spring and bursting with nervous energy, and everyone could tell, namely because John kept taking it out on people. Smitty had stubbornly taken to pulling him aside, that uncertain, concerned look in his eyes, to remind John to breath, because apparently he kept turning pale.

He didn’t feel sick, he told him. And John didn’t; he just felt anxious. And lonely.

For two days he didn’t sleep, just lay awake and listened to the sound of his friend breathing in the next bed over, reminded himself that he shouldn’t be this reliant on one person.

On day four, the final day of the convention, Evan found him.

More accurately, a fed-up Smitty stormed into the hotel room that morning, a concerned Vanoss hot at his heels, and promptly demanded Evan help John before he left; all but slamming the door behind him.

The room was silent for a good ten seconds, Evan shifting nervously under John’s stare. Eventually the Canadian shifted to speak, then glanced at John’s hand and shook his head swiftly, apparently losing his nerve.

It took a few seconds for the aborted gesture to register in John’s mind. He reached into his pocket and drew out the ring.

“This? Is this what you just looked for?”

Evan blinked, twice, surprised, then shifted uneasily, arms crossing over his chest, and John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the man look as uncertain as he did now.

“Look, I’m-” Evan began, but John cut him off, clutching the ring tight in his fist as he stepped forward, feeling the metal bite into his palm as his stomach flipped.

“Why did you give me this?” John spoke, the words coming out closer to a whisper then he’d intended. Evan balked under his gaze, glanced away, then looked back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, squared his shoulders, and winced.

“Because I wanted to express how important you are to me.”

The words were solid and honest, laid out plainly and clearly expecting some sort of rejection; laughter maybe. Despite this, the Canadian hesitantly moved closer, and John was unable to tear his gaze away from Evan, unable to think through the pounding in his chest.

“I think I love you,” John blurted, the words slipping out; oh so painful to say, but a relief once they were free.

Evan froze, eyes widening and mouth dropping in shock, and John got a flash of nostalgia, to a couch and a dark room and youtube.

Than the spell broke and Evan was blushing, crimson flushing across his cheeks and nose, and the flash in his eyes made John know he’d made the right choice. It took two steps to close the distance between them, and Evan’s lips met his own. John felt so warm and content, and maybe that’s just what love was like, he realized, as Evan pulled away and laughed, delighted and carefree. John’s heart felt like it’d burst because _god he loved this man._

He reached forward to cup Evan’s neck and connect their lips again, longer, softer, trying to express through the gesture what his words failed to say, and when Evan met him, giggling against John’s lips, John was fairly certain he was about to have a heart attack.

“Smitty is going to be such an insufferable little shit,” He added once he finally pulled back, and Evan only laughed harder, a vibrant red on his face, but an open, happy expression filling his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth.

John slid the ring in his palm back onto his finger and smiled.

A couple hours later, after being instructed to check on John and Evan by the guys, Smitty once again found them curled up in bed, an abandoned laptop and shared earbuds scattered on the sheets, John’s arm thrown around Evan’s waist.

They were both sound asleep.


End file.
